


forever feels like home

by rivermetimber



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: I'm so sorry, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Witch!Niles, and connor, i actually can't believe i didn't include sumo in this fic, werewolf!Hank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21565324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivermetimber/pseuds/rivermetimber
Summary: It's Gavin's day off when he decides to cover a shift. He shouldn't have even been there; should have been curled up with his cat on his couch watching shitty TV soaps.But, here he is falling in love with a stupid witch instead.Slight disturbance in the area, his ass.
Relationships: Upgraded Connor | RK900/Gavin Reed
Comments: 2
Kudos: 92
Collections: Hankcon & Other Ships Halloween Exchange





	forever feels like home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skye_Willows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Willows/gifts).



> this was written for skye, who i've never really had the chance to talk to much, but i hope you enjoy this regardless! i'm sorry it took so long to publish, but i'm really glad i managed to finish it. merry late halloween skye!
> 
> and also — big thanks to megan too, for being both my sounding board and my beta!

Gavin Reed is a simple man. He lives in a shitty studio apartment that costs way more than it should, lets the cost slide since the owner lets his cat live there, too. Ollie is an old, scruffy ginger and white thing he found during his first week on the police force. He knows Ollie is old, because his hind legs shake when he jumps on the counter sometimes and he doesn’t really put weight on, even though Gavin knows he’s eating and drinking properly.

Gavin never thought he’d become a police officer — it isn’t a job he’s ever really wanted. As a kid, he’d wanted to be a pilot; then he found out that he gets an extreme case of travel sickness whenever he travels by anything other than a car. Then, he’d decided he wanted to be a firefighter, because they’re cool, right? Gavin thought so too, until he found out he was fucking _asthmatic_. The kind of asthma that put him in the hospital at least three times when he was seventeen.

At eighteen, senior year began, and he decided to put his all into engineering, robotic engineering specifically. He’s never been a top student, so working his ass off for six months was the only way he would manage to get the grades needed to even _apply_ for college. 

Then, Elijah — the only _fucker_ he was doing this for — suddenly decides he wants to _do_ something with his life. Applies for the very same college he _knows_ Gavin is aiming for, gets in with no _fucking_ questions asked. At the age of _sixteen_ . They call him a _prodigy_ . Gavin calls him a fucking _nuisence_.

So, Gavin said _fuck you, mom_ and applied to the police academy. Mom’s always had something against Gavin’s aspirations since he was a kid. She’d never wanted him to put his life at risk. So. He’d flipped both her and Eli off, duffel slung over his shoulder, became a cop, and hasn’t seen either of them in three and a half years.

The police gig is fine; Gavin’s only been close to dying once. 

He gets three days off a week, mostly spent with Ollie, because Ollie is fucking perfect and Gavin loves him. But, then there are days like today, when Johnny _fucking_ Grant decides he can’t work because he’s _ill_. When Gavin knows for a goddamn fact that it’s because it was his sister’s wedding yesterday and he got absolutely hammered.

But, cash is cash. So Gavin agrees to work an extra shift. For the cash.

_Neighbourhood disturbance_ , Baker tells him mere seconds after Gavin walks into the precinct. When he asks what kind Baker shrugs, sliding a scrap of paper over towards the edge of his desk. Picking it up, Gavin gives Baker - who he’s noticed is working a _homicide_ case - a flat look as he walks backwards out of the precinct and to his car.

* * *

This place is fucking miles away. 

Gavin wants to laugh; there isn’t even a _neighbourhood_ to investigate. By the time his SatNav beeps, he’s in the boonies — the furthest he’s ever even been from Detroit. Still, he’s curious; _someone_ called in the so-called disturbance. 

He parks at the side of the road, which he _definitely_ shouldn’t be doing but, whatever, he’s a cop. Fingers tap at the steering wheel, eyes glare at the dark clearing. It should be widely known: Gavin Reed isn’t scared of the dark; it’s just… Fuckin’ creepy, dude. So _what_ if he slept with a nightlight until he was thirteen? That doesn’t mean shit. 

Gavin exhales, opens the car door, and steps out into the freezing cold, slamming the door shut behind him. He regrets accepting to do this godforsaken shift; he could be in his shitty apartment right now, _warm_ , with his cat. He’s still cursing as he pulls the torch from his belt, little whispered curses, much like the ones he makes when he stubs his toe on the corner of the coffee table.

The gun stays where it is, holstered under his jacket. Whatever this disturbance is, it’s probably fine. That doesn’t mean, however, that his hand isn’t poised and ready to pull it out at a second’s notice. 

There are no lights around here — why would there be? — so a torch really is the only way to go; it doesn’t help as much as Gavin was hoping. The mist is pretty thick tonight, so he can’t see more than ten feet in front of him, even with the torch’s light. 

With a sigh, he treks forward. 

He’s surrounded by trees, now. The torch in his hand gives a pathetic flicker before it sparks— a small clink, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

What the fuck?

Gavin gives the torch a shake, hearing the rattle of what is obviously broken glass, before letting out a deep sigh through his nose. 

“What a fucking load of shit,” he says, tossing the torch off to the side, since it’s obviously not going to work again any time soon.

It’s fine; after all, just because he can’t see his car behind him anymore, it doesn’t mean anything _bad_. 

Until it does.

It happens in a split second, in the blink of an eye. 

There’s a flash, and then—

* * *

He feels hungover as _fuck_.

Gavin’s eyes aren’t even open, but his head is already pounding. Flexing his hands, he realises that his hands are tingling. Swallowing, he realises _just_ how dry his throat is. It feels like he’s swallowed sandpaper. _Fuck_. Stomach churning, Gavin attempts to roll onto his side.

The soft, cushioned surface he was on disappears, and he’s face down on the ground before he can even register anything. 

The only other thing he finds himself aware of, other than the pain radiating throughout most of his body, is breathing that isn’t his own. Sure, Gavin’s an absolute fucker; but he’s _trained_ . Becoming a goddamn Detective takes _skill_. 

Scrambling up, gritting his teeth against the pain, Gavin forces his eyes open. He feels _really_ hungover. Eyes open, albeit feeling heavy, he squints around, trying to see _where_ he is.

The room he’s in is very small and incredibly cluttered. The area he’d just been laying in, and subsequently fallen into, are the clearest in the whole room. Bookshelves line each and every wall, the only gap seeming to be the doors leading in and out of the room. Two large desks are in the center of the room, sheets of paper sprawled across their whole surface. A few books are open, too, held to a page by… Rocks?

Personally, Gavin would use a pen, but, whatever.

Bringing his hands up to his face, he rubs at his eyes. He has half a mind to fuck off back to the precinct and hand in his resignation because, if nothing else, Gavin Reed is dramatic. He’s putting a foot forward to find an exit when—

“Up already?” a voice chimes in from behind a bookcase, and Gavin squints. “You really shouldn’t be; you took quite the hit.” 

It’s then that Gavin’s foggy mind realises that there’s a door next to that bookcase - _idiot_ . Stepping out from their hiding spot, the fucker has the audacity to fold his arms and _smile_. 

He _really_ doesn’t get paid enough. A cop’s salary hasn’t ever been worth it; that’s why he lives in a shitty apartment and puts Ollie’s food before his own. Gavin rubs a hand through his hair, some strands longer than others — it’s what he gets for cutting his own hair. 

“Look, pal, what the fuck?” Gavin says with a laugh, voice scratchy and barely audible. Coughing into his elbow a few times, he fixes the new guy with a _look_. 

“Well, you’re welcome, I sup—

“I ain’t thankin’ you for shit!”

—pose.”

The guy has the nerve to look affronted at the mere idea of being interrupted and, honestly, Gavin laughs, grinning at the look he’s faced with.

“You want me to thank you; for what?” shaking his head, Gavin puts a hand on his hip, “Makin’ me come out here at the crack-ass of dawn because _someone_ says you’ve been up to some sketchy shit? Or knocking me out and bringing me _here_?”

Suddenly, Gavin feels a lot more awake and aware. He’s still fully dressed, combat boots and all. Thank fuck. Straightening up his jacket and feeling his gun still pressing into his ribs, he nods to himself. When he looks back up, he’s being stared at. 

Honestly, it’s starting to creep Gavin out. He really feels like this guy is taking a look inside his head, so he just sighs, starts the routine speech in place for these types of disturbances. But with its own _Gavin Reed_ touch.

“Look, I wanna be at home, so I’ll make this quick. You live in the middle of nowhere and, yet, someone called in a disturbance. Explosions or some shit — this is your first warning. Any more, and you’ll be down at the station, capeesh?”

Finding the nearest window, Gavin opens it and doesn’t look back as he makes his way to his car. It’s daytime now, at least, so he can fucking see.

He tries not to think of the shell shocked look on the asshole’s face.

It starts haunting him every time he blinks, and he _doesn’t know why_.

* * *

Ollie started _meow_ ing as soon as he heard Gavin outside of the apartment door when he got home at 3pm the day before, so Gavin apologised and fed him, before falling face first onto his own couch and sleeping until the alarm in his bedroom started beeping at 6am the following morning.

He pulls himself out of bed, showers because apparently he’s supposed to do shit like that now, fusses Ollie and makes his way to work.

Baker tells him he looks like _shit_ and assigns him desk duty for the day, which Gavin grumbles at, _of course_. 

It’s an hour into his shift before he decides that playing Minesweeper is much more interesting than literally anything he’s been assigned to do.

Two hours into his eight hour shift and he’s on his seventh coffee; his hands are shaking slightly but he’s fine. He is. 

In fact, Gavin’s having a pretty good day if he ignores the voice in the back of his head that’s replaying yesterday’s events. He’s having a good day, even if he actually feels like shit.

Gavin’s never enjoyed being stuck at his desk before; that should be the first sign that something isn’t right.

It’s lunch and Gavin’s sat with his salad when it happens.

A hand is shoved into Gavin’s peripheral and—

“Gavin Reed, detective at the Detroit City police department. You live alone with your cat. You cut your own hair, and think no one can notice,” a laugh, “you’re a hard man to find, Detective Reed.”

—only then does he turn slightly in his office chair to look up at the face of the same fucker from the day before.

Then, since this is Gavin’s turf, he figures he’ll give this guy the time of day. 

“Oh yeah; how’s that then?”

“There’s a shockingly limited amount of information on you; no one really knows you at all, do they Detective Reed?”

And that? That’s how Gavin ends up pulling this _stranger_ into the — thankfully — empty break room. He flicks the lock on the door, spins on his heel and stands on the balls of his feet for the height advantage. The look on Gavin’s face must give something away, since the stranger is pulling a chair out from under the table and sitting himself down on it before he starts speaking.

“Niles,” he starts, placing a hand on his chest; Gavin assumes that’s his name, then, “when you left the other morning, I was left with nothing but a name. So, I investigated.”

Gavin is confused, “I never told you my name.”

“My apologies; I have a certain way of… _Knowing_ these things.”

Gavin blinks, says, “okay?” like that’s a perfectly acceptable answer. Because that's not creepy at all. That totally doesn’t mean Gavin Reed has somehow obtained himself a stalker, of all things. He laughs, a high-pitched bark, before he shoves his hands in his pockets because — sure, this is normal.

Then, as though reading Gavin’s mind, _Niles_ stands up harshly. “It’s not— I can only promise you that it’s not at all what you’re thinking it is.”

* * *

That’s how Gavin ends up leaving the precinct with Niles — who Gavin really isn’t sure about — after a short word with Baker about this being the same guy Gavin checked out the day before. Baker tells him to be careful, and to keep his cell turned on this time; funny, he doesn’t remember having turned it off last time.

Niles, apparently, walked all the way out here. Which Gavin questions, since it takes him a whole damn hour to drive back to Niles’ little cabin in the woods. In response, Niles gives him a smile, and nothing else.

So Gavin drives back out to the boonies, with nothing else to go on other than Niles being insistent about it being of great importance. His mother’s old talk from when he was seven about ‘ _stranger danger_ ’ chimes in the back of his mind and, honestly, he almost laughs. It should probably be at least a little concerning how little regard Gavin _has_ for his own safety but he’s a cop, so this is his life.

He almost parks at the same area as the other day, just before the clearing that leads into the forest, except Niles decides to look at Gavin from the corner of his eyes and gestures with his head. And Gavin _hates_ that he knows that’s a gesture that means, ‘you know where I live.’

If he’s going to be honest with himself, he isn’t here on any kind of official business; Gavin’s here because he’s curious. He’s met this guy _once_ , exchanged a few words with him — nothing that would constitute to being a whole conversation; yet, Gavin feels like he knows him.-

Like, _really_ knows him. 

So, Gavin pulls up to the cabin, puts the car into park, and steps out.

Because he wants to know how Niles is the middle child and has two brothers. He wants to know how he knows that this cabin was their childhood home. He wants to know—

“Gavin,” Niles says, and it’s then that Gavin realises he’s been spacing out. Niles is already by the door, propping it open with his hand. Gavin sighs, nods, and steps up into the cabin.

Inside is no different to how Gavin remembers it — it’s still cluttered and tiny; it’s only been less than forty-eight hours, after all. He has to keep reminding himself of that fact; it feels a lot more familiar than it should.

Laughing, Gavin toes his shoes off and sits on the couch, feet tucked underneath him. 

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m losing my mind, so you better make it make sense.”

Niles nods, hums, and runs his fingers along a shelf of books, stopping on one and pulling it out. He offers it to Gavin, before pressing the tips of his fingers together. 

“Tea?” he asks, as though he hasn’t just passed Gavin a book that looks like it has at _least_ 500 pages. 

“Uh… Sure?” he responds, holding the book up slightly before continuing, “am I supposed to—”

“Read it, Gavin; it explains more than I could ever get you to understand.”

So, Gavin opens the book to the first page, before it flutters to a chapter around a third of the way in, a chapter titled _Bonds_. And, he reads; it isn’t as word-heavy as he had initially anticipated. There are a lot of diagrams, things that wouldn’t translate very well through words. 

Gavin reads in silence, taking his time for once, until he hears Niles enter the room again. He isn’t sure how long it’s been. Ten minutes, tops. Tapping a finger on the page he’s halfway through, he speaks without thinking, “so, _what_ , you’re saying we got some weird bond thing goin’ on?”

Niles fixes him with a look of complete exasperation, “yes, we do have some—” he cuts off to make air quotes with his fingers “—’bond thing goin’ on’.” 

Gavin scowls, scrunches his nose up in response, and flips him off. 

Niles drops his arms to place both hands on his hips before continuing, “you ask extremely ridiculous questions, for a detective.” 

Gavin almost laughs, but then Niles is sitting on the other end of the couch and picking up the book from where it sits in Gavin’s lap.

“It’s a very strange thing — this bond,” Niles begins, looking at the book, rather than at Gavin. 

Gavin watches his fingers dance over the pages, flicking from one page to the next. His only thought is that Niles has probably read this book over and over, from cover to cover. Before Gavin can continue with that trail of thought, Niles speaks again. 

“It’s quite a rare thing, these days,” his voice is quiet, and Gavin notes the sadness in his eyes as he looks over and _smiles_. 

“Then…” trailing off, Gavin lets his eyes roam around the room, “... How d’you figure it’s even _that_?”

“It just feels right.”

“Sure,” he laughs, “it just feels right…” 

Gavin’s eyes lock onto a picture, one he feels he’s seen before, even though he _can’t_ have. Pushing up from the couch, he ducks under the table in the middle of the room, coming to a stop at a photograph on the wall. 

“You know,” he starts, eyes taking in the three figures in the picture, “it’s kinda weird knowing so much about your life when I don’t actually know you.” 

Turning back, he sends a grin in Niles’ direction. 

“So, Mr. Stern — just who are you?”

* * *

Niles Stern, Gavin learns, is a _witch_. Because apparently they’re actually a real thing that exist. Initially, Gavin barks out a laugh, tells Niles that it’s a funny joke

“I mean, it’d explain the state of this place,” he laughs, gesturing towards the tables in the middle of the cluttered room. Being a detective means Gavin takes a lot in even if he doesn’t seem like he would. He chuckles until he realises that Niles isn’t laughing along, which means it isn’t a joke — this asshole is a hundred percent serious.

Which _means_ Gavin’s probably losing his mind.

When Gavin’s back hits one of the bookshelves, knocking dozens of books from their places, he slides uncomfortably down the shelves until he ends up on the floor. Stares disbelieving at his hands, even as a stray book falls and hits him on the shoulder. 

And then, what seems like only mere seconds later, Niles crouches in front of him, pressing a hot mug into his hands before picking up the books that Gavin knocked down. A small but amused smile plays on his lips.

“I can’t help it if you don’t believe me,” he says, fingers brushing Gavin’s ear as he slides a book back into place, “but really, I think you can feel that it’s true.”

And _really_ , what can Gavin say to that?

*******

Two days later, Niles visits Gavin’s apartment for the first time.

Gavin thinks it’s pretty funny. Niles looks so out of place; like he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. If he’s honest, Gavin doesn’t really know what to do either. He hasn’t hung out with another person in… _Years_. Not in the comfort of his own tiny studio apartment, at least. Tina takes him out for drinks sometimes but...

“So, you drink normal shit, right?” Gavin asks, hip leaning against the open frame that leads into the kitchenette, grin wide, “or is it just like, potions or whatever?”

“What exactly do you… Know about witches?” is the amused comeback. 

The back of Gavin’s neck heats up and he jolts. Ollie grumbles from his space on the couch. Niles chuckles.

“I do dabble a lot in herbal remedies; however, coffee would be great,” Niles says, halting before speaking again, “that is, if you don’t have any blood spare?”

Gavin flips him off as he turns towards the coffee machine, he considers putting salt in the asshole’s cup.

He doesn’t, because Gavin Reed is nothing if not a _great_ guy.

So he makes coffee, shoves a mug into Niles’ hands and places his own on the coffee table. 

“Movie?” he asks, crouching in front of his TV. His eyes scan the small DVD collection, pulling one out when he finds the one he wants and holding the case up to Niles.

“Oh, you _can’t_ be serious.”

But Gavin is serious. So serious, in fact, that he grins as he sits down on the couch, scratching behind Ollie’s ears.

“ _Hocus Pocus_ is a classic.”

*******

At one point, Gavin doesn’t see Niles for three days. He’s comforted by the note he finds on his coffee table each day after he gets in from work.

On the fourth day, Gavin unlocks the door, only to find Niles passed out on the couch. Ollie is passed out on top of Niles.

Gavin takes a picture before he goes to shower.

When he comes out, twenty minutes later, Niles is sat up on his couch. Ollie sits to his side, and he’s holding—

“Oi, you can’t just—”

“Your brother,” Niles indicates, gesturing slightly with the photo frame in his hand, “he looks like you.”

Gavin stops, words dying in his throat.

“It’s been a while since you’ve seen him,” Niles says, a wistful smile playing at his lips.

He finds himself about to ask just _how_ Niles became privy to this information, anger bubbling in his stomach, before he realises. Images of Niles’ own brothers’ flash in his mind; people that Gavin hasn’t ever met in his life, yet feel so familiar to him. So he sighs.

“Yeah, ‘s been about… Four years?” bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, Gavin wonders if he looks awkward. “Mom, too.” Gavin neglects to mention that it’s mostly because he was being petty; but he feels like Niles probably already knows that.

“My brothers,” Niles starts, placing the photo frame back down and picking Ollie up into his arms, “they stopped talking to me because I didn’t agree with their choices.”

Niles’ tone is calm, calculated, but Gavin can see the way his jaw clenches.

His mind flashes back to the picture frame he’d seen in Niles’ tiny, cluttered cabin

*******

It becomes a routine.

* * *

Gavin is dozing on Niles’ couch, eyes falling and fingers twitching.

They cooked today, since Gavin learnt that Niles can’t actually cook for shit. So, Gavin’s taken it upon himself to teach the other man. That isn’t to say that Gavin is a great cook himself, or anything. Fuck no. But, he can keep himself alive; it’s more than he can say for Niles and the countless take-out boxes and noodle packets that are taking up the most space in his trash.

It’s nearing 6pm now, and Gavin is _tired_. 

They’ve eaten, and Niles is washing the dishes. Because that’s something he can actually do. 

Gavin’s seconds from sleep when the door slams open, sounding like it almost comes away at the hinges. He shoots up, feeling for the gun that is usually pressed up against his ribs only to realise a second later that it isn’t fucking _here_. It’s in the goddamn trunk of his car.

It doesn’t occur to him until that second, just how safe he’s been feeling lately.

He curses, eyes darting over to the open door and—

Fuck. 

That’s not a dog. That’s _definitely_ not a fucking dog.

Gavin’s learned a lot in the past couple of weeks, hanging out with a goddamn fuckin’ witch, of all things. 

One of the first things Niles has taught him, was to _always_ be wary of anything that looks like a ‘big ass fuckin’ dog’, as Gavin had so eloquently put it. He blinks, suddenly awake and full of adrenaline. Scrambling back on the couch, knocking some books down in the process, he puts as much space as he can between himself and the beast growling in the doorway. 

“Hank,” Niles’ voice comes from Gavin’s left, slightly startled. Gavin refuses to move his eyes where they’re glued to the thing at the door that, really, can only be a goddamn werewolf. 

It’s only when the thing _moves_ and starts stretching, that Gavin pushes off the couch entirely and starts having trouble breathing. 

Images flash in front of his eyes; sharp teeth and torn clothing—

Even as he manages to pull himself up from the floor, the sound of Niles’ concerned ‘ _Gavin?_ ’ sounding like he’s underwater, all he can see is the blood from that night. 

The blood, the ambulance, the screaming—

He bolts and doesn’t look back, unable to hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He needs to leave, nothing else matters apart from getting _away_ right _fucking now..._

Niles is waiting for him when he unlocks the door leading to his apartment.

His heart is still pounding in his chest and he gasps for breath whilst this _asshole_ is sat _reclined_ on the couch, Ollie curled up on the crook of one arm. He looks comfortable. They both do.

“The fuck—

“I do wish you’d let me speak before you decide to fuck off,” Niles doesn’t sound angry, which is the first thing Gavin notes. And, because he’s Gavin Reed, he decides to fold his arms and puff out his chest.

“Yeah? And I really wish you’d tell me you’re friends with _fucking werewolves_ ,” Niles might not sound angry, but Gavin knows for a fact that he does. 

He isn’t dumb. This _bond_ is a lot more complex than Niles initially let on. He doesn’t really understand, not properly. But, there’s one thing he does know. He’s become increasingly familiar with so much of Niles’ life, without the man himself sharing the information. So, Gavin can only assume it works both ways.

Which means that, as dramatic as he is, Niles should at least remember the way Gavin’s heartbeat sped up and his stomach churned when he’d first been introduced to werewolves through pictures in a goddamn book. 

“He never usually appears unless it’s an emergency,” Niles says, hand absently stroking down Ollie’s back, “this time, it had something to do with my brother.”

And, wow, now Gavin’s the asshole. He stays silent, which Niles must take as an indication to continue.

“Hank has… Connections with my brother. Not like the kind you and I have, of course. But it’s...” he trails off, taking a second to scratch behind Ollie’s ears and under his chin, “Connor is…”

“Difficult, you can just say he’s difficult.”

“Oh, he is incredibly difficult,” Niles lets out a breath of a laugh, setting Ollie gently down on the couch before bringing himself to be within arms reach of Gavin, “but, you’re much more of a handful.” 

Gavin watches with bated breath as Niles places both hands on his shoulders, before pulling him towards him and enclosing his arms behind Gavin’s back. A sense of calm washes over him, seeming to stem and flow into his entire being from any point of contact between himself and Niles. 

He lets it happen, lets the calming sensation take over him like a drug — hell, knowing Niles it very well _could_ be some sort of weird ass magic drug. But he finds he doesn’t care, it’s too damn good and he wouldn’t give it up for the world; the calming sensation is entirely intoxicating, like it’s become one with his bloodstream and as his breathing slows it syncs with Niles’. 

Everything is so, _so_ perfect.

But then Niles speaks and reality comes crashing back down onto him like a ton of bricks. Except, their breaths keep coming out in sync and everything seems just that much easier to deal with. 

“I could feel your fear,” Niles says, speaking into Gavin’s hair, “I also know that you’re not privy to sharing such information lightly; I’d never planned for you to be exposed to any of them.” 

That is what finally sets Gavin over the edge. For some reason he’s perfectly willing to shove his face into Niles’ shoulder as his eyes become hot with tears.

* * *

They don’t talk about it, which is fine. Gavin knows that Niles wants to, but Niles probably knows that _Gavin_ doesn’t. So, they don’t.

It isn’t awkward though; sure, it takes Gavin at least a week and a half before he’s willing to visit Niles’ cabin again, but it’s never awkward. Instead, Niles spends a lot of time at Gavin’s apartment, always seeming a million miles away, sleeping on Gavin’s couch because they’re both too awkward to bring up the huge bed, even though it’s _right_ next to the couch.

It’s the only time Gavin’s truly hated his studio apartment. Everything is in the same space, there’s no privacy. 

He thinks, maybe, Niles is still worried about him.

But, now, Gavin’s worried about him too. 

Recently, Niles’ books have been piling up in Gavin’s living space; he doesn’t mind, he just isn’t sure why. They’re written in a language Gavin doesn’t understand, which is strange — he’d have guessed they’d be written in Latin, and he can read _some_ of that.

Still, it isn’t awkward.

Gavin perches on the couch next to Niles, looking at the pictures. He doesn’t understand these, either, but if he pretends to be looking at it, then he can lean against Niles’ arm. He doesn’t know why, but _fuck_ , Niles has been so spacey and Gavin wants to help _ground_ him.

Leaning his chin on Niles’ shoulder, be huffs out through his nose. 

“What’sat?” he asks, rolling his eyes when Niles hums in response.

“A book.”

“Yeah, no shit; what _kind_ of book?”

Niles’ eyes flick over to Gavin for a split second, before he responds.

“A book on magic, obviously,” is the response he gets.

Gavin glares, eyes watching Niles and then looking towards the book in his hands. Bringing a hand up, he smacks the book right in the centre, knocking it to the floor.

“What was—”

Gavin moves Niles’ arms out of the way and lays across his legs, closing his eyes as he does so.

“— that for?”

“Hm?” Gavin hums, stretching out his legs and hanging them over the arm of the couch, “dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You just—” Niles cuts himself off, sighing; it doesn’t sound like one of annoyance. 

He’s pretty good at telling by now.

“Nevermind.”

Gavin grins, cracking an eye open to see the look on Niles’ face. He was right; Niles is smiling down at him looking completely smitten. Then, one hand covers his eyes while the other takes Gavin’s hand from where it rests against his stomach. Gavin opens his mouth to speak when he feels lips press against his knuckles; they stay there for what feels like forever but in reality, it’s around five seconds. 

The hands leaves his eyes, while the other continues to hold Gavin’s hand in a firm grip. Gavin wants to speak, he really does. But, it’ll break the atmosphere. He knows it will. 

There’s a crackle in the air surrounding them; Gavin’s learnt that’s how Niles’ magic manifests itself. Mostly when he’s losing control of _something_. Which means—

“Hey—” shuffling backwards on the couch, Gavin brings up his free hand, curling it around the back of Niles’ neck and pulling him forward. Their foreheads press together, noses touching ever so slightly. The angle is extremely awkward; Gavin’s back is twisted and his hips ache but—

He doesn’t care.

“Look at me,” he says, tapping the back of Niles’ neck lightly with the fingers that are curled back there and only carrying on when his hand squeezes Gavin’s once, “the fuck’s wrong with you, huh?”

Niles closes his eyes, lacing the fingers of their already clasped hands together. He doesn’t respond verbally, only hums again. 

So, Gavin talks instead. 

Moves to straddle Niles, brings the hand on the back of Niles’ neck up into his hair and leaves their hands laced together. 

Gavin talks — tells Niles about his brother, about work, about Ollie — and Niles listens.

Drifting off to sleep, Gavin is filled with nothing but unease.

Niles is gone when he wakes up the next morning.

* * *

He dives headfirst into work.

Lets himself count the hours since Niles fucked off, but doesn’t let himself do anything about it.

He works; Baker almost falls from his chair when Gavin asks for as much work as Baker is _legally_ allowed to give him. No one mentions Gavin’s complete change in demeanor; he wonders if they even notice. 

Which they don’t, at least not for three whole days.

He hasn’t been taking his lunch break and works right through his shift. It isn’t healthy, but he keeps telling himself he’s fine. Tells Tina he’s just having a bad day when she leans against his desk at the end of her own shift. She gives him a look of absolute distrust, which he knows means she’ll be keeping an eye on him now. 

_Fuck_.

When he gets home that night, he notices that Ollie hasn’t eaten anything all day.

The next day, Gavin takes him to the vet, calling into work on the way. 

He knows Ollie is an old cat; when he’d first taken him in, the vet had only been able to guess that he was around ten or eleven. Gavin’s had him for over three years — he hasn’t felt this anxious in _years_. Not since Eli’s accident.

He sits in the waiting room, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees and hands linked together. Part of him wants to run, but he doesn’t.

The vet comes out forty minutes later, smiles at Gavin like his entire world _isn’t_ about to end.

“Mr. Reed, it’s actually good news,” the vet begins, Gavin thinks his name is Mark, before gesturing for Gavin to follow him into the examination room, “Ollie _is_ an old cat, but he’s incredibly healthy; healthier than most cats I see when they’re in their prime.”

“If he’s fine, why isn’t he eating?”

“It could be anything, really; it _might_ be beneficial to try changing his food,” Mark smiles, “cats tend to be fussy, sometimes, their tastes can change from one day to the next.”

So, Gavin leaves, and Ollie is fine.

He takes Ollie with him to the store, picks up fancy, expensive cat food and takes him home. 

Then, he vaguely remembers getting into his car again.

When he blinks, he’s in the clearing near Niles’ cabin. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there. Doesn’t even remember the drive.. 

The moon is full tonight; he hates it.

It feels like his feet are moving of their own accord — all Gavin is aware of is that he’s putting one foot in front of the other.

* * *

He doesn’t realise his head is smacking against the soil on the ground until it’s too late. He starts pushing himself up, opening his eyes — when did he close them? — and stopping when he sees the shadow lingering over him.

There’s a pressure on his abdomen, and then it’s gone.

Extremely confused, Gavin pushes himself up completely, staggering slightly and putting it down to the bump that’s definitely on his head now. Blinking a few times to allow his eyes to readjust to the darkness of the forest, he begins the trek to Niles’ cabin.

He can’t remember why he thought about coming here but, he thinks, he might as well see if the asshole is still alive.

“Gavin Reed… Isn’t it?” a voice says from Gavin’s left, “it is; are you here to see my brother?”

_Connor_ , his mind supplies. Gavin turns his head slightly with every intention of saying, ‘ _I’m here to kick your brother’s ass_ ’, but no words come out when he opens his mouth to speak. 

But then he has the faint awareness of someone next to him, someone _holding him up._ It takes him a second to realise it’s _Connor,_ after blinking blearily at the figure above him and seeing a face so _similar_ to the one he wants to see but yet so different at the same time. 

“Get the _fuck_ off me,” he tries to snarl but the words just don’t come out right. 

“You’ve been attacked you _idiot_ ,” Connor tells him in a tone that could be exasperation. 

Weird.

It takes him a second of blinking into the darkness to realise that Connor’s right — he’s bleeding out. Claws, still imbedded into his abdomen, severed from their owner. It’s a foreign feeling, one that’s extremely different than a bullet in the arm, or a knife wound to the leg. 

Now that he’s noticed it, pain rushes over him like a wave and he rushes frantically to do the breathing exercises he’s been trained to do. The same ones he taught himself even before he’d joined the force, because of the likelihood of events like this happening. 

They don’t get very far before there’s another figure in front of them. One Gavin can recognize in less than a heartbeat. Someone he’d know was there even if he couldn't see him at all.

Connor lets go and now Niles’ own arms are around him, so comforting, so _familiar_.

"Look at that; y'are alive," he brings an arm up, looping it around Niles' neck and touching his forehead to Niles' cheek.

“What happened?” Niles’ voice is close to his ear, but he isn’t the one being spoken to. Niles doesn’t use that tone with Gavin. 

“I don’t—

“ _Connor_.”

—know!” 

Gavin wants to tell them to keep their voices down, but he’s starting to feel sick. Arms tighten around him.

“I don’t know, honest,” Connor is speaking again; Gavin wishes Niles would speak again, “I was just… In the area. Heard something, ran over here, and here he was, already bleeding out.”

Silence.

And then.

“If we can get him onto a flat surface I can—I can take a look.”

Then, Gavin is laying down on what feels like Niles’ couch. It isn’t often he takes up the whole thing, but the texture against his arm is _just_ right. He tries to roll onto his side, wants to bring his knees to his chest — bony fingers on each of his shoulders prevent it.

“Th’ fuck—” he starts, words turning into a groan at the pain that radiates from his abdomen. It feels like it’s _travelling_ . He pries his eyes open — when did he even close them? “Ni’, fuckin’ _do_ somethin’.”

Gavin grits his teeth, opening his mouth to try and speak again, only to let out a harsh, guttural cough. One that shakes him, driving the claws deeper into his abdomen. He moans, lets out a sound that he isn’t sure would be classed as a laugh or a cry of pain.

There’s a hand in his hair, lips moving against his forehead.

Gavin can tell that it’s an incantation, even if he doesn’t know what Niles is trying to do. He’s never seen Niles cast anything before. He wants to see it.

“ _Fuck_ ,” says a voice that Gavin slowly realises belongs to Connor, “poisonous claws; I hate those fuckers.”

Gavin knows what it feels like to be in and out of consciousness; it’s happened before, and it’s happening right now. A conversation is happening above him, words that don’t quite make it to his ears being traded in worried tones. It feels like he’s underwater. 

Poison is a _bitch_ , though. He hasn’t ever been poisoned personally, not until today at least; he should have expected it at some point. Officers that get poisoned don’t usually survive the night, so Gavin assumes it’s his time.

A hand tightens on his shoulder, another gripping his hand for what Gavin can only assume is for dear life. He makes a pitiful attempt at gripping back.

While Gavin can’t make out any of the words being spoken, he can tell that there’s a third voice. Voices are raised — an argument. He tries to concentrate on the words, but his head is pounding; the pain travelled up into his chest and it’s getting harder to _breathe_.

Lips press to the back of his hand. The hand in his hair starts moving, and then there’s pressure against his forehead.

“—I know,” the first words to filter into Gavin’s ears in a while confuse him; the hand in his hair tightens, “Gavin… I’m sorry, but I love you.”

Then, Gavin’s alone. No hand in his hair, no lips on the back of his hand. No forehead pressed against his own.

A sharp prick on Gavin’s arm — one that reminds him of injections he had to have during his teen years — quickly overrides any pain in his chest and abdomen. 

Burning pain, and then—

Gavin finally passes out.

* * *

Did a freight truck hit him, or something?

Or, did he get absolutely smashed with Tina and this is the hangover?

Lifting an arm, Gavin groans when it protests so much. The freight truck is looking like the more likely story. It flops back onto the—

Bed?

It can’t be a hospital bed; he’s been in those often enough and this is — _way_ too comfortable.

“You should try not to move too much; you’re still recovering,” a voice says from across the room — a voice Gavin would recognise anywhere. 

Forcing an eye open, Gavin spies Niles. He’s huddled in a chair on the other side of the room, a book open in one hand. There’s a look on Niles’ face that Gavin can’t quite make out from this far away, even though Gavin’s never had bad vision at all. 

Finally, Gavin grunts in response.

“We’re really lucky Hank was out looking for Connor,” Niles continues, eyes on his book but definitely not focusing on it. His spare hand is toying with a loose thread on his sweater, a tick that Gavin has learned means Niles is anxious. “I didn’t think you’d—”

Gavin sends him what he hopes is a questioning look; from the feeling in his throat, he doesn’t trust his voice.

“I couldn’t lose you.”

Hank — the werewolf.

They were lucky that _Hank_ was—

“The _fuck_ did you do?” He growls, pushing himself up on an elbow. 

His head is still foggy, but he manages to put two and two together. His fingers tingle, stomach twisting. Niles isn’t looking at him, not that he has at all so far, but the book is set to the side. That’s a start.

“What the fuck. Did you do?” he asks again, sitting up fully, even though everywhere protests every time he moves.

“I know you—” Niles cuts himself off, standing up but not coming any closer, “—I know how you feel about them but I—” Niles’ eyes flick to Gavin’s arm, and away from it just as fast.

Gavin lets himself look down; both of his arms hurt, but the right one the most. He looks at it. 

“You fuckin’—

“Gavin, _please_.”

— _dick_!”

Niles is lucky, really. If Gavin could see straight, could feel as though he‘d be able to support his own legs, he’d have punched the fucker in the face. Instead, he musters up the most murderous look he can, and hopes that tells Niles enough.

Surprisingly, it does.

Niles backs up, and Gavin ignores the look on his face entirely. Niles makes his way to the door, stops when he reaches it, and eventually lets himself out.

Gavin decides to hide underneath the covers.

* * *

He isn’t sure how long he’s under the covers for before he hears the door open and close. The only thing he’s sure of is that it isn’t Niles coming back; he cares too much about the doors in his cabin. Gavin refuses to be the one to break the silence. Whoever’s here obviously wants something, but they aren’t getting it from him, whatever it is.

“Y’know,” a gruff voice says, causing Gavin’s entire body to tense, “my kind don’t usually get along with his.”

The voice cuts off, clearing his throat. He feels awkward, Gavin realises; he could laugh, since he’s been mapping his way to the window of the bedroom since the guy started speaking. He doesn’t respond.

“Saved my life, that kid.”

_Good for you_ , Gavin wants to say, lip curled in obvious distaste. Instead, he doesn’t say anything.

The silence stretches on; Gavin would have believed Hank left the room if it wasn’t for the rumbling he can hear each time Hank breathes. Gavin hates that it calms him down.

Fuck.

His joints loosen, hands unclenching from the bedsheet.

“I never believed in this shit,” he says, only realising he’s spoken when his heartbeat spikes, “my brother was the one hard as fuck over it.”

Gavin laughs, a humourless thing that reminds him how dry his throat is.

“Yeah, ‘til a werewolf ripped his goddamn arm off, at least.”

“We’re not all bad, kid.”

_Kid_. Gavin isn’t a fucking kid.

This time when he laughs, it’s a loud thing that echoes around the room.

“Guess I’ll find out now, huh?” he says, pushing up from the bed despite the way his arms and legs scream at him in protest. “I’m supposed to be a _goddamn_ cop, not—”

“I’ve never seen that boy so torn up ‘bout _anythin_ ’,” Hank says, interrupting Gavin’s rant before it can fully begin, “never really seen him express much of anything other than disgust, really.”

Gavin’s words die in this throat; he’s mad, furious — but still, a little bit curious.

“He’s selfish, stubborn — no question,” Hank starts, and Gavin can hear the way the chair in the corner scrapes against the floor as he stands up, floorboards creaking with each step he takes.

The mattress dips, a hand lands on his head over the duvet, and Gavin hears him heave a huge sigh.

“But not _once_ , have I ever seen him cry.”

* * *

Eventually Hank leaves, but not before telling Gavin not to do anything stupid.

As if he would.

Still, Gavin doesn’t leave the room. He sits on the windowsill, letting himself be as miserable as the goddamn weather outside. He knows he’s being dramatic — he basically almost died and yet here he is, being a little bitch about it because he’s still alive.

The door creaks open and he jumps.

“Uhm,” it’s Connor, because of course it is, carrying a tray, “we thought you might want something at some point so…”

Connor trails off, placing the tray on the chest of drawers near the door. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, even as he slowly closes the door behind him and pins Gavin with a serious look.

“What you do isn’t any of my business, obviously,” Connor starts again, folding his arms and rolling his eyes, “but I thought you should know that Niles fully expects you to hate him and to never associate with him again.”

And, at that, Gavin starts. His chin slips off of his hand and his forehead knocks on the glass of the window, ignoring the way Connor snickers into his hand.

“Still, he made you food, so you must be worth something.”

“Th’ fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

Gavin doesn’t know what Connor’s trying to accomplish by being here and talking to him, but all he’s managing to do is piss him off. Any normal fucker would just leave the tray and go but going purely off of the fact thatNiles is his brother, Connor obviously isn’t a _normal_ fucker.

“You a witch too?” he asks, fingers rubbing at his forehead as he looks at Connor from the corner of his eye.

Connor’s arms twitch, which Gavin can only put down to him not expecting Gavin to attempt any kind of conversation.

“I am.”

“So, like, could you have healed that shit?”

Gavin winces, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, hoping that Connor isn’t as dumb as he looks.

“It’s… A difficult situation,” Connor says, leaning his hip against the bed frame, “I don’t deal with poison, so I definitely couldn’t have.”

“And your brother?”

“Under normal circumstances? Of course,” Connor’s lip turns up, the slightest of smiles appearing, “not that night though, no.”

Gavin doesn’t respond to that and eventually, Connor huffs a sigh and leaves.

* * *

“You were supposed to _eat_ it, you idiot.”

Gavin jumps, elbow jutting out against the window frame and hissing. His eyes sweep the dark room — when did it even get dark? — and land on the figure standing in the doorframe.

“And _you_ were supposed to—”

He cuts himself off because, really — what _was_ Niles supposed to do?

“From the sound of it, I was supposed to watch you die,” Niles says, straight to the point as usual, expression carefully neutral.

“That’s not—”

“What you meant?” Niles laughs. “You’re an insensitive man, Gavin Reed.”

“Me insensitive? Y-you knew! You knew a-about…” he trails off, fighting the tears welling in his eyes but not letting his refusal to refer to the incident stop the anger flowing out of him, “and you still did it! Let that fucking _wolf_ turn me into a fuckin’ monster!”

Darkness, coupled with blurry vision from tear-filled eyes, stop him from being able to see Niles walking towards him. But, still, he hears him; soft footsteps on the wooden floor, coming closer until there’s a shadow above him. Gavin does his best to push himself as close up against the window as he can manage, willing the glass panes to just _disappear_ . He could laugh at himself; he must look like such a fucking child. He needs to get _away_.

“Maybe I’m insensitive, but at least I’m not as damn selfish as you,” he spits, not quite sure what to do with the intense emotions violently overtaking his entire being.

He can’t tell what the tears in his eyes are from, but he’s telling himself they’re from anger.

A hand touches his face; fingers brushing his ear and a palm warm against his cheek. Gavin hates the way he instantly relaxes, hates the way Niles’ fingers stiffen against his ear after a few seconds, bristles when Niles pulls back.

“I shouldn’t have—” Niles backs away, blindly reaches for the frame of the bed and sinks down onto it.

Sure, Gavin’s fucking _pissed_ , absolutely furious even, and he’s honestly still contemplating throwing himself against the window just a little bit too hard. But he stops.

Because looking at Niles, the light from the moon casting light over him, Gavin can see that he looks like absolute shit. His clothes are dry and obviously crusty with dried blood — his blood. Gavin’s eyes trail over his figure, taking in the dried blood under fingernails that are usually pristine and cleaned at least three times a day.

Gavin’s reminded of Elijah; awake for seventy-two hours straight working on some project that _Gavin_ should have been working on, hair mostly pulled out of the bun he’s known to keep it in, hands shaking from lack of food, cans of Red Bull strewn across the floor around him.

Niles reminds Gavin of that.

He lifts a hand, places it on his own cheek and sighs.

“You fucked up,” Gavin says.

“I know,” Niles replies, looking down at his shaking hands.

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I don’t expect it.”

Gavin swings his legs from the windowsill, plants his feet on the floor, rests his elbows on his knees.

“Don’t know if I’ll be able to.”

Niles is silent.

“You _really_ fucked up, Ni’.”

Gavin pushes himself up, wiggling his toes on the cold wooden floor, even through his socks. Pads over and stands in front of Niles, silent until the other looks up.

“I think I hate you, at least a little bit,” Gavin mumbles, bringing a hand up to sit in Niles’ hair, looking across the room at the tray that sits on the drawers.

“I _am_ sorry,” Niles says, his voice barely reaching Gavin’s ears.

“It’ll take a while, but…” Gavin trails off, feeling the grease of Niles’ hair on his fingers. “but I think I wanna try.”

Try what, exactly, Niles doesn't pry into. Gavin thinks he already knows.

A thump against Gavin’s sternum causes him to look down; Niles’ forehead rests against him.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it up to you.”

Words are spoken like a promise, an oath; he can’t help but believe them.

Somewhere, he knows it’s right — putting his trust in those words.

And sure, Gavin knows it’s not perfect, knows _they’re_ not perfect.

But, he thinks they’ll get there.

**Author's Note:**

> more a... hopeful ending than a happy ending... i love you g9
> 
> sorry if the latter part of the fic seems to be lacking something; i really struggled with it because i ended up getting so many ideas, but i was also running out of time towards the deadline, so i had to be picky with what i wanted to include.


End file.
